


Glimpses of Falling

by MothMeetsFlame



Series: Glimpses [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Caring John Winchester, De-Aged Dean Winchester, Gen, Hunt Gone Wrong, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, Teenchesters, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4284051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothMeetsFlame/pseuds/MothMeetsFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Dean protected Sammy, so John had to protect Dean.</p><p>
  <em>Dean chewed on his lip and looked down, feet shuffling nervously like he hadn’t done since the last time he was a toddler. It was a bit nerve-wracking coming from a fifteen-year-old, especially one who’d just taken on his first poltergeist last month. And a witch shortly after.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glimpses of Falling

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt is much longer and includes infantilism. I'm not sure yet whether it'll eventually lead to that, but this is part one of a three part series. I don’t know when the others will be posted. 
> 
> I guess it's time I tried my hand at the whole De-Aging trope that seems to be so popular.

“Sammy? _Sammy?!_ ”

“Dad?”

“Sammy!”

A quick glimpse of unruly hair had John bolting to the corner of the shed and pulling his son into his arms. The hug was tight, quick, and when John pulled back and held Sam by his shoulders to look him in the eye, the devastation on his youngest’s face was enough to form a pit in his stomach.

“Sammy, where’s Dean? Where’s your brother?”

Tears fell from Sam’s eyes. He shook his head.

“Where is he?” John asked more forcefully.

“She took him. Dean… She was gonna take me, Dad, and Dean… he…” Sam’s voice cracked.

“Do you know where he is? _Do you know where he is?_ ”

Sam shook his head, a sob building in his chest. John cursed and glanced around the shed, looking for any obvious clues, but there was nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered.

John pulled him into another hug, longer this time but no more soothing. “It’s not your fault. We’ll find him, Sammy.”

“But what if—”

“I _promise_ you. We’ll find him.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

A tuft of smoke flitted away in the evening wind just before John lowered his gun. It was a clean shot, through and through, right in the middle of the witch’s forehead. She fell like a brick, just toppling right to the ground, the force of the bullet carrying her backward.

The kitchen around him was white, pristine, very Martha Stewart. It was a nice cover for her Hansel and Gretel scheme, but the ability to continue luring victims into her cookie-cutter home was ripped from her by a single bullet from John’s gun.

John didn’t waste any time. He crossed the room quickly and made his way upstairs, clearing room by room until he reached the only one that had been bolted shut. A minute later, the lock clunk to the ground, and John eased the door open.

“Dean?”

A whimper sounded from the closet.

“Dean? It’s Dad. Come on out. It’s time to blow this popsicle stand.”

He opened the door warily, still not sure despite his bravado whether it was _Dean_ in the closet. On the floor of the closet, a pair of denim-clad legs hid his son’s face, and John breathed a sigh before holstering his gun and crouching down to his level. Despite the fact that his son was only fifteen, John had trouble remembering that he was still pretty much a kid, not all that much older than Sammy for all he expected of his eldest.

“C’mon, kid. Let’s go. Sammy’s at the motel, and we gotta get the hell outta Dodge before the cops come lookin.”

Dean whimpered and moved further back into the closet, face still buried in his legs. If anything, Dean’s arms hugged himself tighter, and the trembling John had originally written off as a quick startle was much more defined.

“Dean? Dean-o? You okay there, Bud?”

Dean jumped at his touch, and sobs broke through his chest until his eldest son was sobbing into himself.

“Come on, Dean. You’re scaring me here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, Dean-o?”

Dean chewed on his lip and looked down, feet shuffling nervously like he hadn’t done since the last time he was a toddler. It was a bit nerve-wracking coming from a fifteen-year-old, especially one who’d just taken on his first poltergeist last month. And a witch shortly after.

“What’s the matter, Bud?”

“I, um… I had an a’cident.” Dean sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and sucked, tears building in his eyes. “’M sorry, Daddy.”

John held back his sigh and stood up. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get you all cleaned up, okay?”

Dean nodded, but John’s assurances didn’t do anything to keep the tears from falling.

“How about I get a bath going, huh?”

Dean nodded, his green eyes still sparkling with tears, but there was a smile in his son’s face this time. “Bubbles?” he asked hopefully.

John shook his head. “We don’t have any bubbles.”

Dean’s face fell.

“But, uh, next time, okay?”

“Promise?”

John nodded. “Promise.”

Besides, Dean would be back to himself before they made it to the next bath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

John bolted upright in bed at the sound of a scream coming from the room beside him. His hand was on the knife under his pillow before he came to his senses, but when he did, he quickly flipped the light on and pushed himself out of bed to wake Dean.

“Dean, Buddy, come on, it’s Daddy.” He shook Dean’s shoulder. “Wake up, kiddo. Come on. It’s just me. You’re safe.” He shook Dean’s shoulder when it seemed like his words weren’t getting through.

Dean’s eyes flew open in fear, looking around for the imaginary monsters that plagued his nightmares. His eyes latched firmly onto John, and John watched as his face crumbled. Dean’s eyes teared up, and he began sobbing, arms coming up for John to hold him.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Dean-o. It was just a nightmare.”

“Dad?”

John looked over his shoulder at the sound. “Go back to sleep, Sammy. It’s just a nightmare.”

Sam bit his lip.

“Go ahead.” John gave a reassuring smile. “I’ve got him.”

John turned back to Dean and continued soothing him. Tears leaked into his shoulder, and John was willing to bet that there was an equal amount of snot mixed in with them.

“D–daddy?” Dean stuttered out when the sobbing died down enough for him to speak. He shifted in John’s lap, and John got the hint.

“You wet through, Buddy?”

Dean nodded into his shoulder.

“Dean?”

John startled at Sam’s voice, and turned to face him again even as Dean buried his face further into John’s tear-soaked shirt.

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

“Come on, Dean-o. Let’s get you all cleaned up and into some new PJs, yeah?”

Dean nodded.

“Let’s go.”

Sam stayed behind as John changed Dean out of his wet pants and filled the tub to clean him up. Fifteen minutes later, Dean was clean and dressed and rubbing his eyes while John led him back to bed.

John looked up gratefully at Sam when he saw there were clean sheets, but he didn’t comment as he settled Dean into bed, reading him _Goodnight, Moon_ until his eyes couldn’t be forced open any longer.

He kissed Dean’s forehead and ushered Sam out of the room with him, closing the door gently.

“You okay, Sam?”

Sam shook his head. “It’s all my fault, Dad. Look what I did to him.”

John sighed. It was the same argument, time and time again. “Sammy, look—”

“No, don’t tell me to look.”

“Sam…”

“ _I’ve heard it already_ , but Dean wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t for me, Dad.”

“Sam…”

“I have to do something. Look, I found this woman in California—”

“ _Sam_.”

Sam stopped talking.

John sighed. “It’s been three years, Sam. There is no cure. Trust me, I’ve looked. Everyone’s looked. He’s not going to get any older.” John took a deep breath and blew it out in a sigh. “Dean’s gone, Sam, and we’re not getting him back.” The words were harsh, but John needed Sam to face the truth. “Whatever that witch did to him, it’s permanent.”

“But are you—”

“I’m sure.” John took Sam’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “It’s not your fault, Sammy. You know Dean. He’d’ve... he’d’ve done anything for you. He may have been protecting you, but you better not think that it’s your fault that he ended up like this. There’s already too much self-pity in this family, and it’s not helping Dean any.”

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again before nodding.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“What are we supposed to do if he’s not coming back?”

“He’s _not_ , Sammy.”

Sam blinked and nodded. “Then what are we supposed to do?” he asked.

“We take care of him.”


End file.
